AirGuitar
by theSoundofLiterature
Summary: A series of small scenes of Quinn and Rachel's life. Prompt 2: Fababies. Also available on Tumblr. FABABIES!


**A/N: some of you may recognize this first scene from the iPod drabbles I posted not too long ago. It was my favorite one, and I've wanted to expand on it for a while now. So here it is. Also, this is short I know :( But after Faberry Week I'm going to focus on the fics that I've been neglecting. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys are awesome :)**

AIRGUITAR:

"**17" – Kings of Leon**

17 Years old:

"_Oh, she's only seventeeeen…_"

Rachel has suddenly jumped onto the comforter in Quinn's bedroom, wearing a pair of black boy shorts and a hole-y Pat Benatar t-shirt - playing air guitar along with the song currently playing in her head. Her voice is deep and husky as she strokes at the invisible chords of her air guitar with her small fingers. Quinn is lying beneath her on the mattress, watching as her girlfriend swivels and bends – her knees landing on the bed on either side of Quinn's waist in a skid – her head tilted back in a haze as she whines out the chorus.

"You look so hot right now, Rach."

The brunette keeps singing as if she hasn't heard her girlfriend's low husk, or felt those familiar soft fingers grab onto her naked thighs firmly as she switches to the air bass.

And at the upcoming riffs, she drops the instrument and bends over her sweat sheened girlfriend, planting her palms on either side of Quinn's head. – Bringing one up slowly to play as air mic as she brings her lips only a breath away from the blonde's.

"_I could call you baby, I could call you dammit, it's a one in a million…_"

Quinn can feel Rachel's warm breath skirting seductively over her own parted lips as hazel eyes lock onto darkened brown.

"_Oh it's the rolling of her Spanish tongue that made me wanna stay_."

And just like that the air mic is dropped to fall between the crumpled sheets as Quinn connects their lips, bringing Rachel down with the force of her gravity as they move to fall against the mattress in a heap. The air guitar left stranded against the carpet, the bass broken by the headboard. And the Pat Benatar t-shirt dis-adorned and forgotten against a dusty night table.

23 years old:

"_Said it's a culmination of a story and a goodbye session_."

Rachel's socks are green with muppets on them as she skids across the hardwood floor of their upper Manhattan apartment. Her fingers are thin and ply as she strings out the familiar chords. A, C, G, riff. The ratty NYU sweatshirt hangs off of a naked shoulder in acquiescence to her body's vibrations. And with a slow flick of her waist she's jumping onto the counter and tucking the instrument over a warm shoulder to rest while she crawls across the cool granite.

"_It's a tick of our time and a tick of her hair that made me feel so strange._"

Her hands connect with the countertop as she ambles over the metal sink, one knee strikes the fruit bowl, and it tumbles precariously to the floor in a jumble. Rachel smiles when she reaches her target. Pulling her forgotten instrument from it's resting place against her back – her knees on the granite, her hands stroking the invisible chords while she croons seductively into a blonde ear.

"Rachel, I'm trying to finish this work…_baby_, c'mon. When you do this, you know I can't concentrate… and you spilled all of the fruit."

Soft skin creeps up behind her girlfriend's body as it leans against the edge of the counter, a hot knee spread on either side of a slender waist from behind. A soft voice singing just for her from beneath chocolate bangs. Small hands creeping up behind pale arms to play the slow chords against alabaster skin. Soft abdominals flexing beneath the notes.

"_Oh I could call you baby, I could call you dammit it's a one in a million…_"

And as the guitar falls to crash to the floor, Quinn smiles as she feels Rachel's breath skirting dangerously against the back of her neck. It's a weak spot, and when she finally hears the amps blow out from the riff, she turns in her girlfriends talented arms and puts that Spanish tongue to work – the granite heating up beneath white and tan fingers.

27 years old:

"_Wind, and wind, and wound up over everythiiiiiiiing…"_

Quinn smiles when she feels her wife's arms tuck into her waist from behind; her impossibly long legs wrapping themselves around her body as they sit on the overlarge comforter. Rachel breathes into short blonde hair lovingly as she strokes a warm finger across tender honey curls. A soft breathless kiss to the back of a pale neck and Quinn sighs as she shifts.

"_Brother's frightened and when's a baby gonna sleep…"_

Rachel looks down as she runs her fingers across Quinn's, making sure to hit every chord arrangement as she goes. The amp was getting old; it was sold at a garage sale a few years back. The bass stopped working in '15 that went to a nice younger couple at a raffle. But as she strokes the notes across her wife's warm hands, the guitar isn't lost. She skips a note and smiles down at the sleeping beauty resting between her wife's warm arms. Leaning over her gorgeous wife to kiss soft curls away from even softer eyelashes.

"She's sleeping Rach. She just stopped crying…if you wake her up with your weird fascination with Kings of Leon and air guitar, I'm coming after you."

And just like that Rachel smiles into the honey blonde hair of her daughter, closing her brown eyes to the lyrics undulating through her head. And when she's done doling out adorations to her sleeping beauty, she rises up to rest her heavy head against her wife's warm back. Her cheek inching across the ridged cotton of her worn wife beater; the old guitar shackled up in its case beneath the bed for now.

"I love you, you know."

"I know."


End file.
